aesthetics
by Constance Greene
Summary: I drew like there was no tomorrow because there wasn’t one for me. I drew because it was the closest thing to love I could get. — RikuNaminé


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a e s t h e t i c s  
namiku drabble;  
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♥

I drew the world as it was in the past, present, and future. I drew what I saw. I drew everything, anything and anyone because I could not help it.

I drew with crayons because I was too shy to ask for an alternative medium for my boundless sketches. The wax was dull on the plain white paper of my sketchbook. I could never get the angles right but that was okay because I was satisfying my insatiable urge for drawing. What I drew with didn't matter. It was what I drew that mattered. I sometimes drew five pictures a day; sometimes I drew twenty.

I drew stories and I drew feelings. I drew what was in my mind at that moment. I drew as an observer and as a part of that story, as if I were there and intimately connected with the characters, all though most of the times that was not true.

The Nobodies of Organization XIII were my models. So were the twelve floors of Castle Oblivion. So was my memory.

I drew like there was no tomorrow because there wasn't one for me. I drew because it was the closest thing to love I could get.

I remember seeing him standing behind me before he even stumbled aimlessly in from the door. He watched me draw and did not comprehend.

"Are you an artist?" He'd ask.

I bowed my head like a praying saint and pretended to be too absorbed in my drawing of him (which he could not see) to have heard him. Before he left the blue stick of crayon had snapped in half, smudging his hair.

Once he asked me to talk a walk with him. I imagined my cheeks blushing profusely as if I had dabbed rouge on them and quietly complied. He led me out of the castle, to my uttermost surprise, and I had gasped and he had nearly laughed.

"You don't get out much, do you?"

I was just a simple girl with pale skin and light hair who dwelled in a white room like a ghost. I had no future. I was forever bound somewhere in between nothingness and my drawings.

We strolled to the Graceful Assassin's garden, my legs dancing amongst the abundant flora. I sat down and drew them, tracing their contours not with my eyes but with my mind. There were violets and roses and daffodils and goldenrods. Each had a crayon I could use with a matching name and colour. We were silent but it was a content silence. When I was done I tore away the page and gave it to him. Then I was gone.

That night I saw him in my mind. It was so lucid that it couldn't have been a dream. I rarely slept and when I did I usually dreamt. They weren't always only my dreams. I knew his name but I was afraid to say it. I closed my eyes and visually drew him, once, twice.

"Riku," I whispered into the empty darkness, "Riku."

I found him standing in my room the next day, a blur of contrasting colour, navy and yellow, glancing at the posters taped onto the blinding alabaster walls as if he were a tourist in an art museum. I held the crayon that was in my hand tightly, clenching my fist as I was washed over by the rarity of it. He turned with a slight smile on his milky lips, nearly causing me to drop my utensil.

"I wanted to know what this was about. I was hoping to find an answer in these . . . but, nothing. I cannot analyze them like I wish to." He frowned.

So I explained everything to him. Why I drew, how I drew it. Why other people drew. It was painfully obvious that he had never taken such interest in art before he encountered my gift. It was a curse, I insisted. He saw it as a talent he could never have or want to have and I saw it as an alternate life of sin. I talked of the different methods of art and what the great artists used; the ones I had read about and studied intensively out of books in the library. Staying there was never an option; all though it had good books, the Savage Nymph would always lurk there, reading her novels that she claimed were mystery but had more romance in them than solving crime.

He listened but did not appear immensely intrigued by the concepts. I did not mind as I finally had someone to talk about my passion to. I began to lose him whence describing planar structure, and by surface control it was futile. He was unable to ask intelligent questions. My world of aesthetics, the one I dwelled in and breathed in, was as bewildering to him as his need to find his friend was to me.

"I still don't get how you do this." He made it sound like I was wasting my life away when I could be doing better things than 'this.' Always referred to as 'this.'

"Then you are aesthetically blind." He had no sense of distinguishing beauty. Flowers were beautiful. Spring was beautiful as he had shown it to me. I did not always draw the beautiful but I knew beauty when I saw it.

"No, I'm not." He gazed at me levelly with aquamarine eyes. The ocean was beautiful. I had seen pictures and tried to draw it, mixing the different shades of blue and green. His eyes reminded me of the ocean.

"I know I'm not whenever I see you."

Finally we both understood.

a . u t h o r ' s n o t e s ;;

I don't know how I got this pairing.  
I wanted Naminé & I wanted fluff & I wanted a drabble.  
This was loosely based off of _My Name is Asher Lev _by Chaim Potok with the aesthetic blindness & all that art obsession shtuff.  
I do not claim to own his work or Kingdom Hearts.  
But I wish I had Riku. ♥  
Read & review or whatever.


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